


Anything Can Change in Winter

by Michelleleahhh



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelleleahhh/pseuds/Michelleleahhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe if Katniss can admit her faults, she can admit how she knows Peeta Mellark is kind. But she can’t do that. Feeling anything for Peeta Mellark other than cold indifference is a trap. She doesn’t acknowledge the warm and longing looks he gives her in school. She doesn’t even acknowledge a flushed heart beat when she catches him. She doesn't acknowledge him, period. Even if she likes his attention. But now he's here. On her dining table bruised and battered, and there's nothing Katniss can do to avoid him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything Can Change in Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myusernamehere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myusernamehere/gifts).



> I wrote this lovely piece for the F-Yeah Everlark Christmas Exchange for the lovely: Lisa (myusernamehere (dot) tumblr (dot) com). She's utterly fantastic and great, everyone should check her and her fics out. Highly recommend her. Not to mention she's so sweet. I ultimately failed at her prompts: Katniss snowed in at the Mellark Bakery, but I gave it my damned best.  
> I finally published because yesterday was my birthday and I had the day to really edit it and add things to it. I hope you like it. All mistakes are my own.

There’s a vicious knock at the door. 

 

Even Katniss Everdeen winces at the splintering sound of wood echoing through her Seam house. Her mother rushes to the door, ready to open it to whoever huddles on the other side. Katniss turns back to the stove, thinking it’s just another patient. She doesn’t want to be seen or look at who it is. The scent of blood alone is enough to make her stomach turn. 

 

She figures the victim is claimed by October’s sudden chilled air, to the black ice that has taken residence on District 12’s dirt road. But she’s wrong.

 

It’s been a rainy and shivering fall. Colder than she can ever remember. Food is scarcer than winters before, making her pants already loose even though it’s only Fall. Her mother’s had few patients. Leaving Katniss, as usual, the responsibility to feed the household. She’s boiling water and ginger root found in the woods just to make something warm for her family.

 

But now there’s finally a knock. And even though someone was hurt, it means they might be able to eat tomorrow. So she’s hopeful and praying that it is another patient. Even if it’s just for money.

 

And it is another patient. Just one, being carried sloppily by another person. A flurry of blonde hair makes its way into her dull house. She barely even glances their way. Instead, she continues to stir the broth at the stove, trying it tepidly, unsurprised at how tasteless it is. She furrows her head down, knowing a Merchant is there, and she’d give anything to be invisible.

 

She can hear a stifled gasp and a quiet groan of pain. She’s tempted to look even if it’s just to see who it is. But just the thought of blood keeps her turned away. Years as a hunter could never prepare her for human pain. But when Mrs. Everdeen tells Katniss to boil more water and get a basin ready, Katniss finally looks up and sees him. 

 

Her first thoughts are: _Not him_. 

 

Why did she pray before?

 

A shoulder out of place. A swollen eye socket. Blood matted in blonde curls. 

 

Peeta Mellark has seen better days. Better ones on the wrestling mat. Better ones at the bakery. And certainly better days in the school’s labyrinth hallways. 

 

She’s suddenly overturned with nausea, not from the blood, or disjointed shoulder. Not even from the grotesque eyelid. 

 

She’s sick because she’s knows exactly who has done this. She knows who’s responsible. 

 

Mothers aren’t meant to hit their children.

 

But when Peeta Mellark’s sole cerulean eye meets hers, she has to look away because she’s afraid of what her silver orbs may betray.

 

_______

 

 

Katniss is inept at healing, she’s better at killing things than helping nurse them back to health. So when Mrs. Everdeen tries to get her to help, Prim steps in. Prim, her darling younger sister who has inherited Mrs. Everdeen’s knack for nursing. 

 

Grasping the role of an adult healer, even though she’s just hit reaping age, Prim flurries around the kitchen, taking charge of the storm that Peeta Mellark has started in their small four room home. 

 

Prim quickly pushes the table against a wall and sits him on the small wooden table, keeping him propped on the wall as they examine him.

 

Katniss hears words muttered. 

 

_Concussion. Dislocation. Periorbital hemotoma._

 

Katniss doesn’t understand any of these words. They’re as foreign as the capitol’s heavy accents spoken on television, but she does understands the concept. Peeta Mellark is in poor shape. So poor, that they have to hold him down to splinter his shoulder back into place. 

 

His painful whimpers ricochet off the walls only to reverberate repeatedly in her mind that is still huddled in on itself unable to mutter a word of reassurance to the man on her dining table. 

 

She wants to smile at him. To give him a small and comforting gesture as her mother snaps his shoulder back into place. But she can’t, she refuses to do that.

 

It has been far too long for her to acknowledge Peeta Mellark. Even if it’s because of him that she can smile. Because of that day. Years ago. The first time she noticed Peeta Mellark and his kindness. But, Peeta Mellark is kind to everyone. His kindness concerning her had nothing to do with _her,_ or his feelings towards her _._ When he tossed her a loaf of bread as she scourged his trashcans for any type of food, Peeta Mellark was just being kind. And she never even acknowledged him. She never even said thank you. She hates herself for it. 

 

A bitter seed planted in her stomach the next day when he looked bruised and battered. She never asked to be saved. And even if that’s true, she still feels indebted to Peeta Mellark, she still feels guilty. She wonders who he rescued today, if he played hero for some other person. 

 

Maybe if Katniss could admit her faults, she could admit how she knew Peeta Mellark was kind. Besides that incident. But she can’t admit her faults, and she can’t admit feeling anything for Peeta Mellark other than cold indifference. She doesn’t acknowledge the warm and longing looks he gives her in school. She doesn’t acknowledge a flushed heart beat when she catches him. It’s almost as if she likes his attention.

 

Indifference. That is Katniss Everdeen’s key emotion. Well, that and stubbornness. 

 

So, Katniss moves to her room, locking herself in it, afraid of when she’ll have to come out and see Peeta. And even though she’s a room away, she can hear every word between the healer and her patient.

 

There’s nothing Mrs. Everdeen can do for his black eye, other than salves and remedies from plants, but that’s not the problem. The problem is the concussion, she hears her mother say to Mr. Mellark. 

 

They need to keep Peeta under supervision, watch his progress and make sure he doesn’t fall asleep for at least another two hours. If he does, it could lead to coma. She can hear Peeta agree, he’ll stay awake. But even Katniss, with an untrained ear, can hear the slight slurring in Peeta speech, a symptom of the unfixable. 

 

Her mother tells Mr. Mellark to go home. That he can’t help and the best thing he could do is stay away for the night. Mrs. Everdeen will take the first watch, Prim will be second, and unfortunately for Peeta, Katniss will take the third. Or, that’s what Mrs. Everdeen tells Mr. Mellark. 

 

At first, she’s angry that her mother dares to speak for her. Angry that she cannot speak for herself, but even Katniss knows she would not volunteer unless she were forced into the role and that is exactly what her mother has done. 

 

But then she realizes it is not anger, but fear. She, Katniss Everdeen, is afraid to be in the room with the bakers son. There’s too much history that confuses Katniss. Too many caught glances between them, and tension. There is so much tension. She wants nothing to do with him and she’s afraid that if she stays with him she will not want nothing.

 

Prim smiles at Katniss when she enters their shared room a few minutes later telling her that Katniss will watch him from three to six. 

 

She just has to make sure Peeta Mellark sleeps safely. 

 

“You'll do fine _,”_ Prim reassures her before settling into their double bed, snuggling against her sister.

 

* * *

 

Katniss wakes up at three to reprieve her sister and finds Peeta Mellark sleeping soundly. With a heavy gut, she takes a seat to his left, her mind drifting to the outside, listening to the wind rattle the old windows of her house. 

 

By three-thirty Peeta Mellark starts to twist and turn, kicking the blanket off of himself. She watches him finally. Looking at his face, her eyes intimately tracing the lines of bruises and zeroing on his shoulder that’s in white cloth. Even through the linen she can see the bruises. She has to suppress a scoff, not understanding how someone as decent as Peeta Mellark can come from pure… evil. 

 

Because Peeta Mellark _is_ decent. And Kind. And just so… good. And no one good should ever live in Panem, let alone District 12. 

 

But there are many things about her world she does not understand, Peeta Mellark’s family only just makes the list. 

 

He starts to whimper and moan, she wonders if she should wake him up. A part of her wants to get her mother or even Prim. She can’t take care of this… Merchant. She can’t wake up and see his eyes staring at her again. She doesn’t know the first thing about healing. She’ll basically kill him; and even though Katniss is afraid of Peeta Mellark, the last thing she wants to do is murder him. She should stand and get her mother.

 

Instead, without a real reason for doing so, Katniss reaches out to his good shoulder and abruptly shakes Peeta awake. 

 

She immediately regrets it and curses her rash behavior. He probably wasn’t even in danger, and she’s confused. Confused. She’s confused as to why she did that, why when she touched his shoulder her stomach dropped. She scowls just at the thought.  

 

The less talkative she is, the better it will be. 

 

His eyes open with a start, but he looks around the room as if confused. Unaware of where he is or why he is there. Then she can see every emotion flicker through his eyes, until they finally settle on realization, widening at memories. She feels like an intruder on the inner workings of brutal memories, a stranger just witnessing through windows. His eyes shift over to hers, and once again she has to look away, his nude chest finally making itself known. 

 

He coughs lightly, clearing his throat. “Hi.” 

 

Katniss’ glances back to him, “Hi.” There is a stifling silence in the Everdeen home. “Sorry, you were making noise.” 

 

Why did she wake him? Now she actually has to talk to him.

 

“It’s fine, your sister did the same thing earlier.” He says, struggling to sit up against the wood wall, the blanket falling farther from his chest, she averts her eyes back to the window. “Said I was fidgeting.” 

 

But his explanation takes a second seat to his bare chest that doesn’t go unnoticed to Katniss. A rising heat warming itself up her neck and settling on her cheeks. 

 

“You should stay down.” 

 

He smiles, “I should?” 

 

“Yes.”

 

She’s only now realizing that there’s a splintering piece of glass on the window to her house. How strange she’s never noticed. 

 

“Your mother said I should sit up each time I wake up. She said it helps the blood flow.” 

 

Her gaze snaps back to Peeta’s amused expression, “Oh. Right. Uhm, yeah. Ok.” Katniss moves to help him, her hands finding purchase on his one good shoulder, awkwardly sitting him up. She ignores any heat that rushes to her face as she looks at her hands, fully aware of Peeta’s sharp gaze on her face. 

 

She knows she’s not pretty. And she know’s that he is probably counting each flaw on her flushed face, each bag under her eye. Looking at her deep olive skin and wondering why he helped her all those years ago. She should have said thank you. Her guilt is still creeping beneath her skin, festering to the point of boils that he can see under his heavy gaze and probably detests.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers. His plump lips puckering at the end of his sentence, and Katniss watches them. Not even acknowledging why they’re so fascinating.

 

She nods abruptly and standing to get him a glass of water. Moving away from him if only to be able to breathe, angry that two words come so easy to him when they elude her at every turn. She hands him a glass of water, symbolically apologizing. 

 

He will not understand. She knows he will not understand. 

 

She knows a lot. Like that no matter how much those lips pucker, calling to her, it will never happen.

 

Because she’s from the Seam polluted by coal and poverty, and he’s from the Merchant’s Quarter, already in a stable job at his father’s bakery. He’s only tainted by privilege. Then her thoughts turn to his mother, she knows that he’s tainted by more than just privilege. But she doesn’t want to think of the way’s Peeta Mellark hurts, because then he’s not a Merchant, then he’s a person. 

 

She needs to stop listening to Gale’s rants. 

 

She sits down, pulling at the hem of her shirt, insecure of the rags under his heavy gaze.

 

“Are you going to say anything?” He asks her, his eyebrows furrowing across his forehead. 

 

Blonde eyebrows because he’s Merchant.

 

Her expression is just as confused, “Should I be?” 

 

“You’re really bad at this,” he chuckles, even when she scowls at his insult, opening her mouth to defend herself. “You’re suppose to be keeping me awake,” he reminds her with a smile on his face.

 

“Oh,” she says. “Right. How do you feel?” Internally, she’s flushing at her question. She can see how he feels, he feels like bruises and rolling pins. Probably tasting copper in his mouth from split lips.

 

He laughs, at her. Her eyes narrowing on his full smile again, as he laughs at the expense of her inadequate people skills. “Utterly fantastic. Can’t you tell?” 

 

“Well sorry for asking.” She snaps, leaning back in her chair, recognizing tension clouding the space between them, she picks at the thread on the bottom of her shirt that needs needlework.

 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “That was a bad joke.” 

 

She takes him in, realizing his stricken look, and finally loosens her frown. “It was a bad question.” 

 

“Did you do the civics homework yet?” He says, straitening himself against the wall.

 

“No. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be much help to you.” 

 

Peeta shakes his head, “I doubt that. I mean,” he pauses, taking a stuttering breath in, “You always seem to know what you’re talking about.” 

 

Katniss, pulls on her braid, “That’s really Madge’s doing.” 

 

Peeta nods his head, his one thumb running over blood in the roots of his head her mother had yet to clean. He must see her disgusted or revolting expression, because he chuckles. “How do you kill things if you can’t deal with blood.” 

 

“That’s different.” 

 

“How?” He asks quickly, a blush overwhelming his face.

 

“Killing animals is for survival, for humans it’s just cruel.” She turns from him before she can see his reaction.

 

She walks back to the kitchen and dampens a rag with a basin of water on the counter, feeling Peeta’s weighted gaze on her the entire time. She goes back to him and hands him the rag. 

 

“Here.” She drops it in his left hand, and sits down next to him in a chair. She watches as he tries to clean himself. Only his movements are jerked. As if he is unused to cleaning himself with his left hand. 

 

She should help him, but she’s afraid to be close to him. When he brushes against an open wound and winces slightly, she immediately takes the clothe from him. Not even thinking about her proximity to him. She just can’t see him in pain. 

 

“Thanks,” he whispers, as she steps closer to gently wipe the dried blood from his scalp. Careful to avoid the angry red cut on his hairline.

 

But from his expression she gathers her gentleness is as rugged as her course and calloused hands. “Sorry.” 

 

She wishes she could be soft like Madge. Or any one of the other Merchant girls who hang off his shoulder, begging for attention. Like Delly Cartwright.

 

“It’s fine.” He dismisses as she tries to softly clean him. They’re quiet for a while, basking in just stuttering breaths. She’s so close to him, she can feel his exhale on her arms, and it’s almost erotic. If she found that sort of thing erotic. 

 

The silence stretches, then as if Peeta finds the quiet unbearable, he breaks it. 

 

“I find it funny that for a huntress you’re pretty squeamish around blood.” She rolls her eyes and doesn’t respond, instead she scrubs harder against his scalp, “Ow!” She smirks and deposits the rag in his lap. “I guess I deserved that.” He at least has the decency to seem sheepish, as he ducks his head. 

 

“Did _you_ do the civic homework.” She asks, finding herself slightly at ease. The quiet had resolved her anxiety.

 

“I did.” 

 

“I can bring it in for you tomorrow.” She regrets the words as soon as she says them. Peeta has many friends, any one of them would be willing to bring it in for him. 

 

“That’s ok, I think the bakery is a bit out of the way for you.” He smiles at her. 

 

“Yeah,” Katniss agrees, feeling stupid for her suggestion. 

 

“Especially in this cold weather.” 

 

“I hate winter.” Katniss mutters, gesturing to the howling wind outside. 

 

Peeta cracks a smile at her, her eyes narrowing in on his lips. “It’s fall.” 

 

She shakes her head, “A freezing fall means a frigid winter.” 

 

“Who said that?” 

 

Katniss, pauses, fluttering her eyes. “My dad did.” 

 

“Well, I love winter.” 

 

She looks at him stunned at his admission. There’s nothing kind about winter. There’s no food, and no heat. And there is no electricity to help keep families warm in District 12. The only thing the people of District 12 could hope for in winter, is for mild weather that means easy travels to the mines or few injuries. Winter means a loose clothes, shrinking stomaches and protruding hipbones. Winter means jutting ribs. 

 

But Peeta is a Merchant, he knows nothing of starvation or cold or dampness. He knows nothing of rattling houses, and broken shingles on the roof that only blow cold winter winds.

 

“Why?” She knows it sounds judgmental, but a part of her is judging him. How could someone love winter winds.

 

“Anything can change in winter. It’s basically means new.” 

 

“No it means death. Spring is when things sprout again.” She corrects him, flipping her braid over her shoulder. 

 

“Winter kills everything to bring it back. It’s new beginnings. Without winter, how could you admire Spring?” 

 

“By eating.”

 

He laughs at that. “Touché. I guess we agree to disagree. But trust me, every January first, I’m hopeful for a fresh new year.” 

 

“You only say that because the wrestling championship is usually that week.”

 

“How did you know that?” He asks with a smiling edge to his voice. 

 

“I went to it,” she says plainly like it’s not a big deal. But it is a big deal. Katniss doesn’t do school things. “Madge dragged me,” she covers for herself, tugging on her braid again. “I don’t really remember much.”

 

He smiles lightly at her, redness coming to his cheeks, “What do you remember?”

 

“I remembered that you lost to your brother.” She smirks.

 

“Yeah, he remembers that too unfortunately.”

 

He watches her as she fiddles with her braid, content to look anywhere but at him. Anywhere but his eyes, his chest, his hair. If she looks at him, she’d want him. Merchant. 

 

He’s Merchant. She clings to that trope more than any other thought in her head. If she can just remember he’s Merchant, than she can forget at any possibility of them. Mainly because any thought of them _is_ impossible. Katniss doesn’t want any relationship, let alone one with Peeta Mellark.

 

She looks up and sees him admiring her closely, an emotion in his eyes. The air is thick between them, leaving Katniss with a fowl stench in her nose. She wants to break it.

 

“You know,” He begins, grabbing her attention. “Your mother said I might not be able to wrestle again.” He tells her, his voice dropping an octave. 

 

“My mother says a lot of things, doesn’t mean they’re true.” 

 

She doesn’t mean to sound resentful, she doesn’t mean to belittle her mother. But she can’t stop the venom that pours against her kin. Mrs. Everdeen was not a mother. She was a woman that gave birth to Katniss, nothing more.

 

“You really know how to comfort people.” 

 

She rolls her eyes and smiles. He lifts his hand and fixes a piece of hair behind her ear. She shoots back, shocked at his physical contact. 

 

He smiles sadly at her, pain etched in his voice. “At least your mother helps people rather than…” His words trail off, hanging in the tense air. “Sorry.”

 

It’s like he’s trying to backtrack. Make her forget what he started to say or what he just did. His throat contracts and she can hear a sharp intake of breath. Her mother warned her that this was just a symptom of his condition. That his concussion could cause emotions, something she knows little of how to help. She’s not comforting person, she’s stoic. She’s foreign to emotion, turned them off the day her father never came back from the mines, it’s as if they died along with him. 

 

The only person she can comfort is Prim, and that’s through hugs. Through physicality. But she can’t hug Peeta Mellark. She just can’t.

 

“Peeta, why-“ She stops herself, anger sweeping through her. Trying to find the words to explain what she’s thinking. “Why do you let her.” 

 

“She doesn’t mean to, I guess she just doesn’t know what she’s doing. She can’t control her anger and I can’t just hit her back.” He scratches the back of his head, “That would make me like her.”

 

She guesses she understands. After her father died, her mother rarely got up. Instead, she stayed in bed for days, staring at a blank wall, unregistered to the world. And no matter how many minutes her mother stayed on her thin mattress, Katniss never tried to get help. A broken home was better than no home. She had Prim to think of. She probably would have died too, if it weren’t for Peeta Mellark. And his bread, his kindness. She would have starved in the rain, finally succumbing to neglect. 

 

“You’re nothing like her.” Her voice is raw, full of passion she didn’t know she had. Comforting passion. Her head drops, and she can feel the blush creep up her neck, hoping that it doesn’t spread far. She feels piercing blue eyes on her, studying her. “I remember what you did, with the bread… and,” she breathes, “You saved me and my sister- You’re nothing like her.” She repeats, strongly.

 

“I should have walked the bread over to you, instead of dropping it in the rain.”

 

Katniss sighs, “You didn’t have to do anything.” 

 

Peeta shakes his head, “I did.”

 

She has to know, “Why?” 

 

He looks to his hands that are clasped in his lap. When he finally meets her gaze, she can hear his intent before he even says it. A part of her doesn’t want to hear it. His eyes laden with emotions that she has been foreign to for so long. 

 

Instead he smiles, quietly. “You don’t know the effect that you have.” 

 

She wants to tell him everything. About how he made her survive. About how she knows he watches her. About how she almost revels in his glances. But she can’t. Revealing that is like revealing herself, finally admitting her feelings, and as sweet and kind as Peeta Mellark is, he’s practically a stranger. She can’t do that. 

 

But she can shut him up, distract him. She can stop him from spiraling into an emotional depression. He can’t know how she feels, because even she doesn’t know how she feels, and the last thing she wants to do to a battered Peeta Mellark is disappoint him. 

 

She can’t cause him any more pain, his mother has already done that. 

 

So she does distract him. In the only way she knows how. Like with Prim. She distracts him through physical contact. She goes to wind her arms around him, envelope him in warmth, anything to not have to respond to his statement. 

 

But instead his lips impulsively lean forward. Then, his smooth lips land on her chapped ones. Or maybe hers land on his. She doesn’t even know or think about it. She doesn’t even register she’s doing it, until his hands frame her face, and his lips move back. Soft and pliable. For a second her eyes close and she feels him move against her, igniting flames across her skin. His hands dance into her hair, while hers dangle in his lap. Pulling at the wool blanket across his legs. Then she feels him, his tongue tracing hers, as he opens his mouth wider. It feels warn, and wet, she can almost taste him on her lips. She begins to follow suit and open her mouth for him, but then she recognizes what she’s doing. 

 

Her eyes snap and she pulls back hastily, shaking her head. 

 

“I’m sorry. I-” Her hands fly to her mouth, still finding his warm wetness on her lips. 

 

“Katniss, it’s fine I-.”

 

“No,” She raises herself from her sleep, finally seeing the sun rise. She has to go hunting. “I have to go.” She can’t help him, afraid of what would happen.

 

She steps away from him, walks out the wintry fall air trying to forget about Peeta Mellark, selfishly hoping he doesn’t try to forget about her.

 

But he will. He’s a Merchant and she’s just the newest Seam girl he can bring to Slag Heap.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t try to forget about her.

 

When he finally returns to school, he seeks her out. Walking closely behind her when she’s making her way to her locker. So close she can practically feel the heat of his chest against her. She imagines he brushes her back with his hands, but it’s nothing more than a day-dream. 

 

He stares at her across the room during Civics. When she meets his gaze, she can see his eyes dip to her lips, and she almost does the same. But she can’t, because they can’t be.

 

She can feel his blue gaze wherever she goes, and he’s so obvious about it. 

 

She can feel other people’s gazes too, and their words.

 

Others’ gossip about how Peeta Mellark was at the Everdeen’s after the brothers had a pre-wrestling match. How Katniss used her Seam techniques she learned from Slag Heap to nurse him back to health. 

 

Why else wold Peeta Mellark be giving Katniss Everdeen any attention?

 

She blissfully remained invisible before Peeta Mellark, but now she was anything but. Even Gale began to notice at school, mentioning it to her once or twice in the woods. Katniss snapped at him and took off with his share of rabbits. 

 

It took three days for him to approach her and apologize. Since that moment Gale Hawthorne never mentioned Peeta to her again. And she never dared utter his name aloud again. Peeta was dead to her.

 

But then he’s not, because he’s everywhere. He even sits with her, well Madge, at lunch one Tuesday. Talking to the mayor’s daughter about their math course, going over what will be on the exam. Katniss doesn’t acknowledge him, and certainly doesn’t acknowledge his lips, or his eyes, or his chest. 

 

She has to go somewhere. 

 

“Sorry.” She excuses herself, standing up from the lunch table, “I have to go to the library.” 

 

Madge furrows her eyebrows ludicrously at her friend, and Katniss can feel rather than see Peeta’s intense gaze… again.

 

But then he disappears. It’s been two months and Peeta Mellark doesn’t even approach her. Not at school, or home. He never tries to seek her out. He’s just vanished into Merchant air. Just gone. 

 

And she doesn’t try to see him. 

 

But she won’t let him win. No, she still goes to the bakery with Gale, only Peeta Mellark is no where to be seen. He’s gone. Not even trying. And a part of Katniss, the hopeful one she never wanted to let exist, just dies inside of her.

 

On the last day of the year, she’s at the hob with Gale. Darius, is sitting on the other side of him, and even in his peacekeeper uniform, it seems like he belongs there. All three of them are enjoying Sae’s finest squirrel soup, each of them ribbing on one another. Well, both boys joking with Katniss trying to make her as uncomfortable as possible. She just tries to enjoy her soup in peace.

 

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Darius asks, slurping his soup in a typical disgusting fashion, when Katniss just gives him a dirty look and shakes her head, he continues “Or should I walk by you again.” 

 

“I think you should.” Katniss answers, a smirk dangling off her lips, “I need practice on a moving target.” 

 

Gale is the first to release a haughty laugh. Finally Darius joins in, dropping his soup spoon back into his bowl. Even Katniss smiles.

 

“Can I have a bowl, please?” She hears someone ask from the left of her. She knows that voice, and her heart plummets. Maybe there’s even a fluttering in her stomach. She can’t tell the difference anymore. Katniss turns around to find Peeta standing there, not even looking at her. A mop of blonde curls hurtle over his face, blocking everything but his jaw from her ponderous gaze.

 

Everyone is quiet at the stall as they’re unused to a Merchant’s presence at the Hob. 

 

“Sure,” Sae accepts his coins, never one to turn a paying customer away and ignores Katniss’ death glare. So, Katniss moves and looks at Gale, meeting his eyes in some type of desperation.

 

The two share a look, pleading for him to do something, anything that could make the tension at the booth dissipate. Instead, Gale turns to Darius.

 

At first she sits there stewing in an awkward silence. Basking as her stomach knots itself into a tangled mess as she stares at her scarred hands. Trying to control her breathing and forget about Peeta’s heavy presence next to her. She wishes she can dissolve into the tensed thick air right there. Become a background prop for the Hob. 

 

But she can’t. She’s rubbing shoulders with the very problem she has spent weeks trying to forget about, and he has the audacity to show up here. Of all the places he tries to see her, it’s the Hob. The Hob. Where anyone can see them, where anyone can gawk. Where people probably are staring and whispering. 

 

Katniss swings back around to glare at Peeta. “What are you doing here,” she whispers angrily, looking around to make sure no one is paying them any attention.

 

But there are many looks. It’s odd. A Merchant boy sitting with a Seam girl.

 

“I’m having soup.” He explains, gesturing to the bowl in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

 

“You don’t belong here.” She spits, the faster she makes Peeta Mellark hate her the better.

 

“It’s just soup.” He smiles slightly at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Truth is, I had to get buttons for the suit I’m wearing to my brother’s toasting ceremony. I saw you sitting, my stomach rumbled. So here I am.”

 

She scowls at his admission, “And what, you thought you could just sit and talk to me?”

 

“No, it got you to finally talk to me.” 

 

She shakes her head and mutters heatedly, “You need to go.” Anger pulses through her, spooling out of her pours and directed at this… Merchant- in front of her.

 

“Right,” he says, finally looking around and noticing every eye that is on them. He picks up his spoon, as if to take a sip and weighing his opinions. When he drinks and watches her scowl from the corner of his eye, he sighs. He turns toward her. 

 

 

“I get it, Katniss. You don’t like me.” He whispers it, making sure no one can hear, and even though she’s silent, she blushes. Looking around to see if anyone is listening. No one is. “But I just have to try one last time, even if you only pitied me last fall. ”

 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing at all, just staring at his frown. Staring at his hands as they run themselves through his hair. Staring at his lips and wondering if they’d feel the same. Immediately, she hates herself again. Guilt. Why does Peeta Mellark always make her feel guilty.

 

Because that’s not true. She could never pity him, but he can’t know that.

 

“I just had to tell you that tomorrow is January first. And well, one last gesture for the year. You know?” When she doesn’t look at him, he sighs. “Nevermind.” 

 

With a shake of his head, he stands up and nods to Greasy Sae. “Thank you.” He kindly smiles at her, and Katniss can even see Sae visibly swoon.

 

He gives her one last look before walking away. 

 

She turns back to look at Gale for any type of sympathy, but his appearance is anything but soft. 

 

* * *

 

“Do you like him?” Gale asks her that night, as they mosey through Merchant streets on their way back to the Seam.

 

She looks at Gale incredulously, “No.” 

 

“Well, he likes you.” Gale says, shoving his hands into his pants pockets, flurries beginning to fall around them. 

 

“Well, I don’t like him,” she mocks, a little harsher than before.

 

No one is on the streets, and there is barely any light. The only luminescence comes from the Merchant shoppe’s storefronts that are beginning to close, even at the early time. 

 

Gale nods, shuffling his feet as they walk. “I heard some things.” He stops to look at her, grabbing her arm to turn her to him. 

 

“They must be right then,” she hisses, pulling her arm free. 

 

Gale shakes his head, “I’m just trying to figure it out, Katniss. One day you and Peeta Mellark never talk, the next he’s around you every chance he gets. What happened?” 

 

“Nothing!” 

 

Gale nods stiffly, staring somewhere past her, before tensing his jaw and looking down to her. “Absolutely nothing?”

 

“Nothing,” she repeats. 

 

And just like that, she’s trapped underneath Gale’s lips. Demanding her, trying to pour things onto lips that she doesn't believe exists between them. With a gentle push on his chest softly, she pulls her lips away not even entertaining the idea of him. 

 

“What was that for?” She demands, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Instead, Gale looks past her towards the building behind her. She pivots and sees where he’s looking. Blue eyes. She finds blue eyes before they turn away. 

 

Her heart drops. She can’t even deny it if she wanted to. 

 

“Nothing,” He mutters, and begins to walk ahead of her.

 

The snow falls harder.

 

* * *

 

She has a fitful sleep. On thin shoes, she stomps to the woods to hunt. An activity that always clears her mind, even when its in overdriven turmoil. Before she knows it, she shoots two squirrels. Scrawny rats that were nothing but skin and bones. She drops one off at home, and goes to trade the other. She knows where she’s headed before her feet even touch the snow covered roads.

 

Just one stop. 

 

Just one stop is all she needs. She furrows inside her father’s hunting jacket. Her faded brown boots are soaked from stomping through the inches snow, turned black from wetness and exertion. Her hair is damp from the flakes nestled in her roots. 

 

Just one stop. 

 

She reminds herself that she’s doing this for Prim and ignores any part of her head whispering other motives. Her sister needs food and a new coat for the winter. A winter that is already worst than most, even on the first of January. A new year, but Katniss doesn’t recognize the time of year. She doesn’t let it settle in. To her, it is any other bitter cold day. 

 

Katniss’ skin is numb, but she remains stubborn against the weather. There’s no use in turning around now, she’s almost there. Just a few hundred feet away from where a part of her wants to be. 

 

Not want. Has to. A part of her _has_ to be. 

 

For Prim, she reminds herself with a scowl. 

 

The snow falls in sheets around her blanketing District 12’s dirt ground. It’s getting harder to trudge into town as the seconds fly by. The wind blows snow up, causing her to squint her eyes and duck into the coat again. 

 

Just.

 

One. 

 

Stop. 

 

She ignores what she wants to see, and instead thinks of the possible bread that lays ahead of her. Bread for Prim. Nothing is there for her, she tells herself. She’s destroyed any possibility yesterday.

 

The snow is past her ankles, causing the seem of her pants to dampen. She only walks faster towards Mellark’s Bakery. If she could make it there, she knows he’ll make it worth her while. She knows it. 

 

Out of everyone in town, or the Merchant’s part of it, the baker always gives her the best deals, at times even over paying for a measly squirrel. Because he’s a Merchant and has the _means_ to do so. No Seam person could give Katniss what he does. She reminds herself it’s because he is privileged. 

 

She finally get’s to the bakery, the cold seeping through her pants and her breath whitening the unusually dark and foreshadowing morning air. She knocks softly at first, the lights from the kitchen forcing black silhouettes against the glass portion of the door. 

 

It opens slightly, a blonde head with blue eyes peeking out. 

 

Her stomach drops in hopeful anticipation.

 

One of the older Mellark’s brother’s gaze finds hers ablaze even with the cold surrounding her. He smiles at her. 

 

Her stomach recovers.

 

“Hi Katniss.” 

 

“Hi,” she returns with a scowl. When he just looks at her with a teasing smile, Katniss gestures threadbare sack clenched in her hands, “Is your dad here?” 

 

“Oh right,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “Uh, he’s upstairs. Did you want to come in while I get him?”

 

Her immediate answer is no, or at least that would be her typical answer. But when the snow falling around her makes itself known again with a swift bone-chilling breeze, she begins to reconsider. The Mellark boy, she thinks his name is Rye, opens the door for her. As if knowing her silence is an acceptance. And even though she wants to remain stoic and stubborn out in the freezing rain, she steps inside. A shiver overwhelming her as the heat envelopes her. 

 

She lets a deep breath out and revels in the warmth. She could only imagine how luxurious it is to be a Mellark. To not worry about food on the table or the frost that bites in the heart of winter. Tonight, Katniss, Prim, and her mother are going to have to sleep in the same room, with only body heat to keep them warm; the twigs she brought with her from the woods would be long burnt by the time they fall asleep. 

 

Rye tells her to wait in the kitchen and exits to find his father. For the first time in her life, Katniss is inside the Mellark bakery, and alone at that. She stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, unknowingly gravitating towards the oven and the heat. She hovers her hands over the oven door, hoping to warm the feeling back into them. 

 

She can feel the cold slowly seep away. The thudding sound of feet behind her, causes her to swiftly turn around. 

 

Mr. Mellark stands in the doorway with a smile on his face as he steps forward. Unlike all the other people she trades with, Katniss has an unspoken understanding with Mr. Mellark. It’s not that she’s comfortable around him, because she isn’t. Her relationship with the baker is just easy, he gives her bread for her meat and he never haggles. He’s kind and soft-spoken, and unlike his nasty wife or the rest of the Merchants, he’s not prejudice against her because she’s from the Seam. The rest of town looks at her like a rabid animal, only speaking to her for when they need a trade. 

 

“Staying dry I hope,” he laughs, looking over her damp clothes. She half expects him to snub her for what she did to his son. Guilt rises. 

 

“Not really,” Katniss deadpans honestly, swallowing guilt.

 

The baker smiles, “What do you have for me today?” 

 

 “A squirrel,” tells Katniss, holding up her game bag. 

 

Mr. Mellark nods and looks at the squirrel as Katniss pulls it out and drops it on the table unceremoniously. 

 

“Looks to me like it’s worth two rolls,” Mr. Mellark suggests. 

 

 _If that._  

 

Katniss would be lucky to even have one roll for the scrawny squirrel, who’s bones protrude outside of the skin. But even though her pride wants to acknowledge the unfair trade, she keeps her mouth shut. Not to argue with him. Only for her sister’s well being. 

 

Two. She counted two ribs on Primrose’s body last night, and bread would do fine to add some substance. It’s only January first. And she could tell this would be a long, cold winter. 

 

“I’ll make it three if you would skin it.” 

 

Katniss shakes her head. “I’ll skin it for the two.” She looks out the window, barely seeing through the corsica glass because of the blizzard outside. She ignores the pounding in her veins. The gnawing anxious feeling that something is wrong. She ignores it and instead, moves toward the counter to start skinning the squirrel’s hide. 

 

Mr. Mellark looks like he’s about to object to their agreement, when a loud and obnoxious knock comes from the front door of the bakery. She then hears the door fly open and a crash come from the store front. 

 

She hears voices and arguing. One of the Mellark boys trying to prevent an inevitable intrusion.

 

She hears boots stomping, an unfamiliar boot. A new one that has had little use. A metal boot. A boot only peacekeepers would have. Katniss stuffs the squirrel back into her bag and holds it behind her. She can feel her heartbeat thrum in her chest as Mr. Mellark barely even has time to register the scuttle in the front of the bakery. Katniss just finishes stuffing the sack into her loose pants when the kitchen door flings open. 

 

Two peacekeepers walk into the bakery, their boots tracking mud through the shop with little courtesy for Mr. Mellark. Their helmets are covered with water droplets, slowly cascading down its surface. The first one takes off his mask revealing old Cray, the head Peacekeeper of District 12. His eyes scant around the room before zeroing in on her. Scrutinizing her, trying to see. Trying to find out what she’s doing here.

 

He should already know why she’s here. But she’s not about to utter a word about it. Finally he passes over her and turns to the baker. 

 

“District 12’s on lock down.” He sneers, looking at the two of them. “No one’s to go outside.”

 

A slight panic arises in Katniss as she just looks out to the snow. She doesn’t dare to utter a word. She can’t say a word. Not until they leave. She’ll just follow the path behind all the Merchant building’s staying out of sight until she can get back to the Seam. She’s done it a million times and can do it tonight, even if the snow piles from the storm before are still piled high there. She can make it back. She can’t stay here.

 

She looks back to old Cray, finding his gaze penetrating her own. She holds her breath as if he’s about to come closer to her. “Anyone who’s found outside will be apprehended to the Justice Building and treated as seen fit.” A slow smile rises to his face as if to tempt her to sneak out. But the way Cray looks at her, she knows what he intends to do. 

 

He’ll treat her like all the other Seam girls who come to him. Who stand outside his door at night for a few coins. Only, those girls choose to go. She has a feeling, a heavy pit chomping and weighing down the bottom of her stomach, that if she is caught it’ll be him or lashes. Even less of a choice. 

 

“What are you doing here girl?” He grunts at her, looking between her and the baker. Katniss’ mouth opens to defend herself, but nothing comes out but a soft breath. Panic rises, as he takes a step towards her, as if ready to search her, violate her right here on the bakery floor. She wants to take a step back, but already knows that doing that will only push Cray further.

 

“Katniss was applying for a job,” she hears a voice behind Cray call. And her heart strums wildly to find the owner of that voice walk in. Peeta. He enters casually and yet carefully. As if testing the waters before ready to jump in. His forearms covered in flower dangle uselessly at his sides and his blonde waves stick out in all directions as if he had just been running his hands through them. Like a nervous tick. 

 

He stares at his father. A silent message floating between them. A conversation she’s not privy to, because she looks anywhere but at Peeta Mellark. 

 

“In the middle of the snowstorm?”

 

There’s a slight pause in the room, as if no one knows how to answer him, before Katniss grows the courage. “My mother has had no clients,” she croaks trying to keep a steady voice. “We need money.”

 

Katniss tries to remain stoic and truthful, even though her excuse is mediocre at best. It’s not a lie for anyone in twelve, but even her eyes are telling Cray that it is. Such a blatant lie. But if Katniss is caught trading she would wind up dead and the Mellark’s would suffer just as much. And she’s already made one of them suffer too much. 

 

 

It’s not even a decent lie to cover up her illegal dealings with the Mellark’s; because even if they do need money, Katniss would never apply for a job at the bakery.

 

Cray just barks laughter, spitting moisture from his repulsive lips, “And you thought the bakery would hire you, Seam girl? You’re as dumb as the rest of them.”  

 

“It was worth a try,” Katniss states, her scowl forming. Her throat contracts.

 

Cray takes a threatening step towards her.

 

“I think it’s time you left, sir.” Mr. Mellark starts, taking a measured and strong step towards the peacekeepers. “We have to tell Katniss’ mother that she will be remaining with us for the rest of the day.” 

 

Cray just leers at the baker, “I’m sure that it is just an inconvenience to talk to her, isn’t it? Yes,” he nods his head, “I’m sure it just _annoys_ you.” Cray takes a step forward, before the peacekeeper behind him pulls on his shoulders and points outside the glass to people battling the weather. Cray turns back to Mr. Mellark, glancing him over, “We’ll be posted outside.” 

 

Cray then disappears out the front door and into the snowed street. 

 

There’s a few loud seconds of silence as everyone catches their breaths and bearings in the bakery. The only sound to be noted is the oven’s humming. She can’t stay here. She knows she can’t stay. Prim needs the bread because those two ribs are not going to disappear on their own. And the faster she could get back to her home in the Seam, the faster Prim could eat. 

 

The faster she gets home, the quicker she’s away from Peeta. 

 

“I have to go.”

 

She expects that it will be Mr. Mellark that argues against her, but instead it is Peeta’s baritone voice that rushes through the air in a swift breath. “You can’t,” he spits out. His eyes grow wide as if the idea of her leaving is a preposterous. 

 

Her eyes snap to his, heat and anger rising. 

 

“I can and I will,” Katniss states, ready for any argument that comes her way. Who is Peeta Mellark to tell her what to do? He has no right. She risked her life today, trudging through the blizzard. For two damn rolls of bread. Or maybe it was for him. To see him, a part of her whispers. But even so, her sister needs this bread and she will not let Prim starve as Katniss stays here in the bakery’s blanketing warmth.

 

Peeta sighs, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “What if you go out?” Peeta asks rationally, “Cray finds you. Then what?” The question is rhetorical. Not needing an answer, because she already knows the answer. Then all of this was for nothing. That’s what Peeta wants to say. That’s what she wants to answer. But instead his question hangs in the tense air. Tension so thick it clouds her rational thought because she wants to stay. 

 

She does and she wants to tell him that. And she wants to apologize and thank him.

 

She shakes her head, not wanting to walk down that path, because for a second she’s thrusted back into the past where chapped lips meet smooth ones. 

 

Because for a second she wants to stay. But no. She will not think about that. She will not stay. Prim needs her, and she will always come first. 

 

Katniss scowls at him, “I have to at least try.” 

 

“Then I’ll go with you.” He runs his hands through his hair, mussing it further.

 

“No.”

 

It’s not up for debate and her face tells him so. 

 

Peeta looks like he’s about to say something, but instead his jaw tenses. He grits his teeth and she ignores it. He has to know by now she’s a lost, stubborn cause. 

 

Mr. Mellark tells Peeta to stay in the front of the store to fetch the rolls, as he takes the squirrel from her bag.

 

“You know he means well,” Mr Mellark says in a hushed tone.

 

“I do too.” Katniss purses her lips, “For my sister.” 

 

Before Mr. Mellark can even begin to respond, Peeta bounds through the door with two loaves of bread in his hand. Two raisin and nut loaves, tinged on the ends. She stares at the bread as he holds it out to her, too scared to even touch it, afraid of what he may be able to see.

 

She takes them from him, trying to exude some type of indifference as she shuffles the food into her game bag. 

 

“Thank you,” she says, before dodging out the back door, without a word in either of theirs direction. She can almost feel his gaze pulling her back, coaxing her return. But instead she shuts the door, a wave of frost hitting her in the face. 

 

Shuffling boots and powerful gusts of wind are the only sounds throughout District 12. An abandoned District 12, with not one person in the usually busy streets, even if she is only walking the back alley. 

 

So Katniss takes a calming breath as a strange tang of freedom courses through her bones, making her shake. She takes a tentative step, her feet falling through the snowfall, she can’t even see a foot ahead of her as she frames her eyes with her hands. 

 

She gets two hundred feet past the Mellark building before she hears shadows and movement. There’s no where to hide. No garbage can behind her, or a building to conceal herself with. The snow has taken over everything. And she can’t even make a quickstep back towards the Mellark dumpsters, it’s impossible to trudge quickly through snow now.

 

Katniss should move, but instead she holds her ground, steely grey eyes ready to fight whoever comes her way. Her hands fall away from her face and instead find purchase dangling at her sides.

 

A Peacekeeper comes around the building. There’s no ceremonial stamp on his breast plate to dignify him as Cray and she feels a weight lift from her gut. But even her relief knows bounds, because even though Cray is not the one with a gun pointed in her direction, she’ll end up with him in some way. 

 

But instead the Peacekeeper walks to a few inches in front of her and takes his helmet off. The first thing she sees is fiery red hair, the second, Darius’ fierce and narrowed eyes. 

 

“What are you doing?” He snaps, pulling Katniss with him towards the direction she came from. She tries to fight him. He’s going the wrong way. She has to get home, to Prim. Everything in her being needs to get back to the Seam, she can feel it. She can’t go back there. 

 

But her attempts to shake him off are futile, it’s like she’s a rabbit trying to escape a steal snare. It’s absolutely useless. And the harder she fights him, pulling her left arm from his grip, the stronger his grasp becomes. 

 

This is not the Darius she’s used to: the Darius who jokes with her at the Hob, the Darius who tries to make her as uncomfortable as possible. This is a possessed and angry Darius, practically dragging her through a foot of snow back to Mellark’s bakery. 

 

“Are you trying to get yourself into trouble?” He bites out more forceful then ever, “If Cray sees you, you’ll wish you were dead.”

 

“I have to see my sister.” Katniss’ voice matches his, her tone just as heated and vile. 

 

Darius chuckles darkly, “And what use will you be to your sister if Cray has you?”

 

She doesn’t want to go back inside. Unlike when she first knocked on the bakery door, she now only feels dread. “I have to at least try.”

 

Darius stops in front of the Mellark’s back door. “You know as well as I do that you didn’t come here to trade for your sister or to trade with _his_ father.” Darius pauses, finally letting go of her arm and shifting his helmut into his other hand. She wonders how he knows, how anyone knows when she hasn’t breathed a word of it. “People talk.” 

 

“I don’t want people talking about me,” she states.

 

“Look,” He starts, “I get that your scared, b-.”

 

She cuts him off, “I’m not scared.”

 

“Terrified then,” he smiles at her harsh scowl. 

 

This is the Darius she knows. The one who gets on her nerves just for the sake of annoying her. And she wants to remain angry at him, but his stupid smile is threatening to make her smile, so she averts her eyes, afraid of what will happen if he actually sees her. Because like Gale, Darius can see right through her. 

 

“I have to give this to Prim.” She gestures to the bag of bread at her side attempting to sound as honest as possible. Because Prim does need this. She can feel the bag torn from her clutches, as if it was the last of her resolve slipping. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds, taking the responsibility for himself. He steps back from her and puts on his helmet, then pummels the door as if a completely different person. 

 

The door flies open to the relieved face of Peeta Mellark, as if he had been waiting there the whole time. And before she knows it, she’s thrown into the bakery, landing harshly on her knees. 

 

“If she’s caught outside again, she’ll be shot on sight.” Darius threatens and slams the door shut.

 

For the second time tonight she meets the gaze of Peeta Mellark, and unlike the first, she’s thrusted back to when they were in reversed positions. When he was stuck at her home, now she’s stuck here. 

 

And everything in the room takes second priority to Peeta’s piercing blue eyes.

 

“Hi,” He greets her, pulling her to her feet. 

 

“Hi.”

 

“Are you ok?” He asks, searching her eyes for any possible lie. 

 

Her own eyes match his, memorizing the vast colors she didn’t dare to last time. “I’m fine.” Because she is fine.

 

He smiles slightly, rubbing the back of his head. “So I guess you’re stuck here.” Theres a slight pause. Then, “I’m sorry you couldn’t get home.” 

 

“There are worse places to get stuck,” she answers. Because there are.

 

Peeta grins fully, his unusually strait teeth for District 12 flashing, “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

 

“Yeah, I could be at the butchers.” Katniss says, thinking about the greasy man next door to the Mellark Bakery who looks at her as if she were meat rather than a human. 

 

“Ah, but I’m sure you’d be showered in food.”

 

“But what is Gragg’s meat compared to your sausage, Peeta.” Katniss hears someone say from across the room. Peeta turns around violently to reveal one of his older brothers smiling at them with a tint in her eyes. 

 

“Get out of here, Rye.” Peeta snaps.

 

“He’s so testy with you here.” Rye grins, and rolls his eyes. When Peeta makes a gesture with his head, Rye winks at Katniss before leaving the room. 

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He says before running a hand through his blonde waves, a flush present on his cheeks. 

 

Katniss smiles, her stomach slightly fluttering at his flustered response. “If you think that’s bad you should hear the Hawthorne’s.” 

 

Peeta’s stare drops to the floor at the mention of Gale. “I can imagine.” 

 

“Is there anything I can help with?” She asks, aware of the sudden awkward silence that surrounds them. 

 

“We’re just recovering from the New Years rush yesterday.” Katniss nods, aware that she has no experience in a kitchen. She’s as inept as he would be in the forest. 

 

“Right.” Katniss looks at the dough on the far counter. 

 

“Do you want to learn how to make dough?” Katniss looks up into his eyes and realizes for the first time what he meant about winter those months ago. How it was new beginnings. A new possibility with every January that passes. 

 

 _Anything can change in winter._ He said. 

 

But she didn’t know what he meant before, now she does. She really does. Because for some reason, while she tried to flee him before, she wants to stay with him now.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me at BottledMichelle (dot) tumblr (dot) com


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